


Ravenous

by WretchedEscapist



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Dry Humping, Frottage, Intoxication, M/M, Masochism, Slight Bondage, Suggestive Themes, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedEscapist/pseuds/WretchedEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While exploring the Hunter's Nightmare it's all too easy to find oneself becoming a bit... intoxicated. Here's the result and the aftermath. (Tags will be updated according to new chapter content. There will be multiple pairings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I don't want anyone going into this thinking it's not just a bunch of shameless smut. I don't necessarily think blood intoxication works like this; this is merely me having some fun in a fandom mournfully devoid of erotic fanfiction. Still interested? Then I hope you enjoy!
> 
> For those curious about what our main hunter might look like (pics updated!):  
> 1\. http://bit.ly/1XIFtwh  
> 2\. http://bit.ly/1Tj7J7i

_Had the air always been this still in the nightmare?_

Serif couldn’t remember.

Thoughts were distant, plummeting ever deeper into a nameless abyss. With each step the air seemed to grow hotter. Violent energy crackled just beneath his flesh and the heady, sickly sweet scent of blood permeated his very pores. It weighed on his tongue, warm and metallic as a slab of iron.

Simon’s words echoed in the back of his mind. He spoke of how this was where hunters ended up when _drunk_ with blood. Was that why he’d found himself inexplicably driven to slaughter until not a single monster or hunter remained standing?

_Was he truly so weak?_

A sanguine trail marked his path from the staircase. It marred every surface he touched. Twisted gravestones bore the stain of his passing. He needed to get to the Dream; it was all he could think of. He had to be rid of this carnage before it drove him completely mad.

Passing beneath the shadow of the ward’s threshold the temperature mercifully dropped, but not nearly enough. Sanity trickled from him like blood from a wound. Waiting for him at the crook of the hallway was a man, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about him right now. Serif passed by and fell against the wall opposite, huffing softly as he pulled at the edge of his cape. He felt like he was suffocating.

The other man called to him, but in his state he only caught the tail end of what he was saying.

_“—s wrong? Have you been injured?”_

Serif got a grip on the wall and turned. Now he realized; this was Simon, _his friend._ In his delirium he’d barely recognized him. With a shuddering sigh, Serif looked away briefly to run his hand over his face. He dragged his half-mask below his chin to grant himself more room to breathe.

The other hunter was approaching him. Serif gazed back with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils dilated and amber irises dark as honey. Horrifyingly, Simon was getting closer. The nearer he drew the more he began to look less like a friend and more like something he wanted to _sink his teeth into._

“Don’t concern yourself,” his own low, rough voice sounded distant and foreign. “None of this blood is mine.”

He glanced down at his glove, at the thick red smeared upon it, and reflexively took a sample upon his tongue. His eyes rolled in euphoria. He sighed, humming low in his throat as his gaze fixed again upon the other man. Simon had stopped advancing.

It didn’t matter, anymore. The damage was done.

Serif launched himself from the wall and caught Simon before he could react, ramming him hard up against a protruding pillar. He leant his weight upon him, pulling aside clothing one-handed to shove his face against the side of his neck. His hat toppled to the floor in the process.

 _“Mmm…”_  he moaned,  _“Oh, Simon… you smell so… good.”_

The older hunter sucked in a sharp breath, alarmed, unable to react. He gripped Serif’s upper arm and pushed against his shoulder, fingers becoming slick with the congealing blood which covered him like a blanket.

“No,” he lamented, defeated and pained, “Not you. I’d hoped—”

Before he could finish that thought Serif attacked the side of his neck with his mouth. He licked, sucked, and scraped his teeth ravenously upon flesh as Simon cried out beneath him. The older hunter writhed, struggling uselessly to escape. Serif could feel him start to shake, his voice wavering as he called his name. A deep sound of pleasure roiled in his throat as at last he tasted the hint of iron.

“Stop; you don’t want this. It’s the blood… you’re being taken by the Nightmare. I know you can fight it, Serif!”

Simon struggled to speak, his voice cracking. The other hunter was rolling his tongue over his pulse point in a way that sent raw pleasure crackling bafflingly down his spine.

Inside Serif’s head was a great chaos. He’d never felt a need this intense before. A part of him wanted to rip open the other man’s jugular and drink the red within. Another part, fueled by suppressed desires and previously squashed thoughts, wanted to pin him down and fuck him senseless. He struggled to focus upon the latter, for it was all he could do to keep from tearing his friend’s throat out.He pressed his leg between the other hunter’s thighs as he drew against him.

“Why wouldn’t I want this?” he hissed against his ear.

Simon twisted in his grip, shivering as goosebumps broke out all over his body. One could only imagine his confusion.

“Do you not want this…?” Serif prompted. “Do you not want  _me?”_

Those words left little question. Simon froze for a beat, too shocked to breathe.

“No, no, it isn’t that,” He finally spoke. “You’ve become intoxicated; you don’t know what you’re doing.”

His head fell back as Serif pressed his face into his neck again, his hand creeping down the front of his body. Simon was too afraid to see what would happen if he stopped him. Instead he held onto him harder, muscles tight with anxiety.

“You’ll regret doing this with me!”

Serif pulled back to look at him. Somehow though his eyes were covered Simon noticed and turned his face away.

“No, I won’t.” Serif growled, forcing the other man to ‘look’ at him again with a hand against his throat.

He dove in and kissed him hard, silencing any further protests. Simon whimpered, sliding down a bit. Serif didn’t let him go. He dragged him back up, leaning into him and grinding their hips together. The other man gasped into his mouth, clutching onto him with sudden desperation. It was obvious he wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Serif could hear the pent-up lust bleed from every ragged breath he took; every tortured moan of pleasure he tried to stifle as he kept on. He could feel it in the way his whole body shook against his own. It was only seconds before the other man was responding to the friction, gently rocking into him.

“Serif,” he whispered breathlessly, “please… stop this…”

Those words would repeat, devolving into near silent pleas as Serif leisurely rutted against him. The desire for blood was becoming eclipsed. _He needed more._ Instinct was all he had to rely on, now.

In all his exuberant impatience Serif took them both down to the floor. Simon had no room or will to protest; not even as his pants were roughly unfastened for him.

“I’m so… sorry…” Serif panted raggedly, “I… _need this…”_

Simon braced himself against the uneven stone, arched slightly in discomfort and utterly unguarded despite the relentless attention being visited upon him. The sound of the other man’s voice left him entranced, wracked with terrible anticipation.

“I forgive you,” he whispered, regardless whether or not the other hunter might comprehend the words.

Serif took hold of both their cocks, binding them together with tight fingers as he experimentally drew his hand back and forth. Pleasure had Simon arching further, thighs tense as he lifted his hips to achieve more of that delicious friction. Serif gradually found a rhythm and began thrusting into his own hand rather than jerking them together.

The change had Simon squirming beneath him, panting raggedly and holding tight to Serif’s lowered forearm as it was all he could get a hold of. The pressure of Serif’s cock against his own, rubbing endlessly against the underside, was maddening. It left him tingling and mindless with desperation.

Serif’s movements became increasingly erratic. His breathing harsh, his whole body starting to tremble. Simon gripped harder, head tilted back as he listened to Serif’s rising urgency with a swelling fervor of his own. The younger hunter was frantically whispering something, but he couldn’t hear what it was.

Then he stilled, his whole body going rigid. A final gasp was wrenched from him as he came.

“Ah— _Simon…”_

The sound of his name spoken with such reverence sent electricity lancing down Simon’s spine. His own cock twitched against Serif’s spasming one, leaking precum onto his stomach as he gave a choked little cry in response. Several beats passed and then it was all over.

Serif unceremoniously pushed himself away. He stood above the other hunter’s disheveled form, chest heaving, cock still hard and dripping as he braced against the wall with his sharp gaze upon him. Simon didn’t move save to relax against the stone, his head lulling as he panted. Serif didn’t stick around any longer than that. He tucked himself back into his pants as best he could and threw himself in the direction of the lamp which would lead him back to sanity.

He had no time or capacity to be sorry.

Grasping a fraction of his bearings Simon almost went after him. Turning over to right himself he saw the other man fall before a lantern post, reaching for it only to disappear like a phantom of dispersing light. He was gone. With his departure went a large fraction of Simon’s worry. He was confident the other man would recover outside of this wretched place and, with any luck, would lack all memories of what had taken place here. It was the least he deserved.

Of course Simon couldn’t even begin to take offense for being left like this. Under the circumstances he felt more guilty for having _enjoyed_ it. But guilt wouldn’t take away the terrible ache between his legs.

He fell to his stomach. Covering his mouth with his free hand he reached down to continue where they’d left off. All he could smell was the blood upon his fingers. His clothing had been stained everywhere Serif had touched him. As such, the young hunter would remain the only thought in his head; particularly the way he’d sounded while reaching the heights of ecstasy.

In barely any time at all he came with a harsh shudder, gasping against his hand. Like a flash flood it was over fast as it had arrived, leaving him throbbing as he caught his breath in the aftermath. The warmth diffused all too quickly, cold loneliness taking its place the same way it always did.

Silently he prayed he’d see the other man again.

Barring his own feelings, he no longer believed he could do this alone. Not after seeing how masterfully the young hunter had slain Ludwig. _He needed Serif_. And what a pitiful waste it would be to have a hunter so skilled succumb to this rotten place instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in the dream, Serif is at the mercy of Gehrman, who is a lot more prepared for a situation like this than he'd have imagined. Thankfully the first hunter doesn't like to resort to murdering those under his charge if he can help it.
> 
> It's still far too early for such measures, after all...

A familiar blinding light heralded weightlessness. Serif succumbed to it, forgetting about gravity until the very moment it caught hold of him with cruel, steely fingers and dragged him swiftly to his hands and knees.

Panting he forced himself to his feet, glassy gaze laying upon the humble shack that was the workshop.

_Wait a minute…_

He couldn’t smell the blood, anymore. The heaviness of it’s thick layers upon his clothing was gone. Frantic, he looked down at his hands and scanned his arms. He was clean; utterly pure as the day he arrived here. Checking the inside of his coat he found not even a single vial. He couldn’t remember where they’d all gone. His heart began to race. Only one thought tore through his mind, annihilating all else.

_He needed to find more blood._

With a rough growl he cut a drunken path up the stairs toward the shack. At the threshold he halted, bright eyes glinting yellow as they fixed upon Gehrman and the unexpected appearance of the doll. She was leaning over to whisper something to him. Upon Serif’s arrival she went silent, looking over at him with an unreadable expression.

Gehrman waved her away gently with a quiet _‘I’ll take care of it.’_

Serif’s sharp gaze followed her until movement closer to him stole his attention. Gehrman slowly rose to his feet. This might have surprised Serif if he were more coherent. It was pure instinct which kept him rooted to the spot; a primal, visceral sort of fear he didn’t understand. Perhaps if he had understood it he wouldn’t have taken those slow steps forward.

“Oh, Serif…” Gehrman said, “What have you gone and done to yourself?”

Serif’s steps quickened slightly, prepared to lunge.

“You were doing so well… and now look at you.”

Gehrman sounded like a disappointed parent, an almost remorseful look in his eyes. Serif hesitated before him, whether from instinct or a distinct fraction of his sanity fighting to be heard was uncertain.

 _“I need blood.”_ He implored.

“I’m afraid you won’t find any here. Not in your current state.”

A spark of desperation finally drove him forth, like a cornered beast upon its assailant. He barely knew what he was doing, all he knew was the horrifying concept that his need wouldn’t be satisfied. Gehrman caught him, arresting his arms with jarring speed and whipping him around. Serif’s back collided with the wall hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. Stunned, he had no time to react before he was thrown sideways to the floor.

He forced himself up by his hands, still catching his breath as he was grabbed by the back of his coat and hauled to his feet. He thrashed at his attacker only to find himself grappling with him once more. In spite of his appearance Gehrman’s strength far outmatched his own. Even more impressive was how he managed to keep his balance with only one leg. Serif roared in frustration.

Dragging him several steps, Gehrman at last spun him around and forced him double over the memory altar. The candlesticks were knocked to the floor, flames harmlessly extinguished upon impact. With Gehrman’s hand upon his neck and the other securely pinning his arm to his back Serif was at last well and truly restrained.

“I won’t let you succumb,” Gehrman murmured, “Even if it kills you.”

Serif couldn’t hear him over the roaring in his ears. Jagged rivers of agony clawed deep into his shoulder from the way his arm was bent. It spread down his spine in cold, icy rivulets, soothing his fever and cutting straight through his yearning. He let out a heady gasp, eyes rolling back as he clawed at the table with his free hand. He struggled to twist, the slightest changes in pressure enough to renew the feeling. _This_ was it, a taste of the relief he’d been dying for.

“Oh _yes,”_ he moaned, “ _hurt me… more.”_

When the other man neither relented nor complied Serif writhed with further insistence to do it himself, grinding back into his lap in the process. Now he felt Gehrman’s grip tighten both on his nape and forearm. He cried out breathlessly in approval.

_“Yes… twist it **harder.** ”_

His ragged voice was taut with desperation.

 _“Please… I,”_ he dug his fingers into the altar, _“I need it… oh, heavens… Gehrman… please.”_

The hand lifted from his neck and his hips were pinned against the altar as Gehrman pressed into him. The young hunter arched as his other arm was restrained just like the first, crying out lewdly at the exquisite agony.

He didn’t notice the doll return to the room, didn’t see her hand Gehrman a rope before swiftly retreating once more. She watched from a safe distance, a hand over her mouth in quiet distress as Serif’s arms were swiftly bound with quick, easy movements. It was clear Gehrman had done this before, probably many, many times. Serif squirmed feebly beneath him, panting against the altar.

“I’ll give you what you need…” The older hunter told him, gentle and out of breath.

He scraped his fingers up the back of Serif’s scalp, combing through his short, crimson hair all the way to the top of his head before trailing back down.

“My blood-crested hunter…”

He reached into his coat pocket to procure a small glass bottle. The cork was easily popped with his thumb to fall upon the floor. Grabbing Serif by the hair he forced him to right himself, embracing him across the chest to hold him. Serif gasped, vision wavering as his pelvis ground against the altar. The way he was pinned granted him no leeway. Sparks of ecstasy danced along the base of his spine from the pressure against his half-hard cock.

Seemingly oblivious to what he was doing to the younger hunter, Gehrman brought the bottle up to Serif’s face to let him catch a whiff of it. The strong scent of blood had him lurching to attention. He stared down the glass container like a starved beast. An attempt to go for it face-first was thwarted by a strong, rough hand against his throat.

“Please,” he rasped, sounding utterly pathetic, _“Please…give it to me.”_

“Shh, you will have it,” Gehrman soothed him. “Open your mouth.”

He brought the bottle to Serif’s lips and the younger hunter immediately complied. Upon the first heavy drop meeting his tongue his whole body seized. Eagerly he gulped down the thick fluid as it poured into his mouth, leaning forward into the hand embracing his throat. A lone drop rolled down from the corner of his lips to score a red trail across his skin.

Gehrman waited until he stopped swallowing. Still he could feel him struggle for more, swiping the smooth rim with his tongue. He tried in vain to follow the bottle as it was withdrawn and placed upon the altar before them.

The blood weighed warm in Serif’s stomach, arresting his hunger and infusing his insides with soothing heat. Heaviness crept steadily into his limbs. His head rolled back, whole body going slack. Tentatively Gehrman laid his hand upon Serif’s chest. His fingers skimmed over the buckles of the young hunter’s armor, inching down to halt at his first belt. Serif relaxed further against him, breathing slow, eyes glazed and heavy-lidded.

Gehrman breathed a soft sigh and drew his hand back up. With extreme care he laid Serif down upon the carpet. He lovingly stroked the young hunter’s hair as he knelt over him. Serif breathed soft and calm, his darkened gaze barely able to follow the shadow of the old hunter looming above him.

Distantly he heard Gehrman’s voice as consciousness fluttered from his grasp.

_“He’ll be alright… don't you worry.”_


End file.
